


A Sphinx of a Different Color

by fluidtime



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Egypt, canon typical gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluidtime/pseuds/fluidtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fortunately, Castiel has found a way to locate the door to Heaven using a spell. Unfortunately, the spell requires an extinct herb, the only known location burred in an Egyptian pyramid. So of course, it falls on Team Free Will's shoulders to fly across the world to retrieve it.</p><p>Written for TFWBB 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chill of an Old Motel Room

**Author's Note:**

> [This fic was written for the Team Free Will Big Bang 2014.](http://tfwbigbang.livejournal.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> A special thanks to my amazing artist, [senegalus](http://senegalus.livejournal.com/) and my beta [createsbabe](http://createsbabe.livejournal.com) (who also beta'd [my SCBB](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2770406/chapters/6212624) fic), they were awesome to work with. Plus, a shout-out to the admins at the TFWBB who do a lovely job of organizing everythin.
> 
> Please, please check out [the art post for this fic](http://senegalus.livejournal.com/820.html) and leave a comment for the artist. I absolutely am in love with their work and they deserve nice things as well!!

 

Chapter One  
The Chill of an Old Motel Room

 

They’re in another dingy hotel with faded pastel-blue wallpaper beginning to peel at the corners and blankets so thin you need three to get through a night. There’s a TV in the corner that gets public broadcasting, Fox news and static. Above it, the rabbit ears are bent and the tangled wires behind it are covered with a layer of dust. Apparently the cleaning service doesn’t get up to much at this establishment.

 

There isn’t even wi-fi, and Sam wonders how they let their standards drop this much as he unravels an ethernet cable (that he had to buy from the front desk for three dollars) and plugs it into his laptop before crawling under the bed to search for the wall-socket that the room supposedly has.

 

Sam thought the dust behind the television was bad, but he wasn’t fully prepared for the inch of filth that had collected beneath the sheets. He sneezed before finding the socket and plugging in the cable, getting out from underneath the bed as fast as he could.

 

He heard Dean enter their room and turned to look at his brother.

 

“Dude, we really need to find someplace else to stay. This motel is disgusting, I think I caught something from the floor, and I don’t even want to think of what’s been on -- or in -- our beds.”

 

Dean surveyed the room, a look of disgust slowly forming on his face. “We can crash in the Impala, but there’s not another motel for miles.”

 

“We’ll freeze to death in your car without any heat.”

 

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” Dean shrugged, walking further into the room, and setting a duffel full of clothing at the edge of a bed.

 

Sam groaned and ran a hand through his hair. Honestly neither of the ideas sounded appealing, but there was over a foot of snow on the ground outside so there was no way they were surviving a night in the car.

 

“This sucks,” he whined, sitting down on the bed across from Dean, and looking up at his brother. “We’re saving the world, holed up in this… I don’t even know what to call it.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s the hunter life Sammy, buck up,” but Dean didn’t look to pleased about having to sleep here either. It was a new low, even for them.

 

Sam heads to the bathroom, and Dean can hear the patter of low-pressure water running from a shower-head. While Sam’s bathing he begins to unpack doesn’t even register the sound of an angel’s arrival before he hears the gravely voice of Castiel ask, “is this where you are staying tonight?”

 

“Not if you could zap us out of here, how are you Cass?” Dean asks as he envelops his friend in a large bear-hug, patting him twice on the shoulder before stepping away.

 

“I am good. Very tired, and also sorry to have left you so soon.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, how’s Gadreel doing?”

 

“He’s weak, but he’ll survive. Both of our graces were badly damaged, however and neither of us are up to doing anything drastic with them. I can travel, but unfortunately can’t take anyone with me so I’m afraid you are stuck here for the night.”

 

“Great,” he mutters, turning from the angel and beginning to lay his collection of guns on the motel table to start his regular routine of care and maintenance.

 

The old, wood chair creaked beneath him as he sat. His hand reached out to slide the Ithaca shotgun towards him, pressing the bolt release and removing the unused rock-salt shells before unscrewing the stock.

 

“We know how to get into heaven.”

 

Dean pauses and looks at the angel. “Well?”

 

“The door is hidden in another dimension which is accessible using a spell. Unfortunately the spell caster can not travel with the recipients, so I suggest Gadreel should be the one to be left behind. I am more confident in my abilities to protect you and Sam than his.”

 

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple. He didn’t particularly want Gadreel sending them off anywhere, but he supposed that there wasn’t any other option. They had just risked their lives on a mission to collect a tome that would help them break into heaven and considering that they almost died, swarmed by Metatron’s men, Dean wasn’t going to let that information go to waste, especially when there didn’t seem to be another way in.

 

“We need to rest Cass, and so do you. We can cast the spell tomorrow if you and Gadreel feel up to it by then.”

 

He could hear the water shut off in the bathroom indicating that Sam was finished with his shower. Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was his tell and Dean tried to muffle another exasperated sigh, but didn’t quite catch it blowing past his lips.

 

“What?” he growled out, voice rumbling and deep.

 

“The spell… it requires some items that are not easily procured.”

 

“Define _not easily_.”

 

Cass shifted again. “I need an herb that has been buried in an Egyptian pyramid.”

 

Dean looked almost dumbfounded. He closed his jaw which had fallen open at some point and leaned forward a fraction of space. “Why can’t you just zap into the pyramid and grab this herb?”

 

There was a large bang as the bathroom door shut behind Sam. He flinched as both Dean and Castiel turned to him. He gives a half hearted wave to the angel before walking over to his bag and pulling out a pair of thick wool socks. The motel managed to at least have warm water, which was a blessing, but it made the air that much more frigid when he had stepped out. Sam was grateful that he had the foresight to bring sweatpants and shirt into the bathroom with him so that he could get dressed straight away.

 

But as he returned to the main room, the cold settled into his skin anyway and he was determined to put on as many layers as he could manage.

 

“What’s going on?” he asks, assuming that Castiel came bearing information since he was here instead of tending to Gadreel.

 

“Cass thinks that the door to heaven is in another dimension, but he needs some hard to find ingredients to work a spell to get us there.”

 

Sam nods, but Castiel just glares at Dean. “I do not _think_ it is in another dimension, I _know_. I similarly know where the ingredients are, it is the extraction of those ingredients that is more difficult.”

 

“And why is that?” Dean asks, turning back to the angel.

 

“Because the pyramids are warded against me. I can physically walk in, but upon entering them I loose all of my powers. This is also the reason I can not just _zap_ in as you so eloquently point out.”

 

Dean slams an open palm onto the table and stands up, beginning to pace. “We can’t ever catch a break, can we?” he practically yells, beginning to pace.

 

“Hold on,” Sam tries to reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was a lot of information to process coming straight from his shower. “Why would ancient Egyptians know how to angel-ward. They didn’t even believe in you guys.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean butts in, gesturing to Sam.

 

Castiel sighs. “It’s not warded against angels specifically. That’s why I can theoretically enter. It’s warded against supernatural powers, heavens included.”

 

“Okay,” Sam drags the end of the word, trying to process the information, “so we need to break in and steal this herb? But… aren’t the pyramids supposed to be giant traps so that thieves didn’t steal stuff? I mean, without your powers, who’s to say that we won’t suffocate to death in one of these hidden chambers?”

 

“People have mapped out the pyramids now, they’re easy to navigate. Fiction tends to embellish on their complexity anyway. The difficult part will be getting into them unseen. It isn’t in one of the three large one’s that everyone knows, it’s in a smaller tomb, easily accessible to tourists, few hiding spaces for us.

 

The wind picks up outside and it’s almost as if you could feel the temperature drop further in the motel room. A shiver runs up Sam’s spine as he takes a seat on the threadbare bed. He ran a hand along the cover and absentmindedly picked at a loose thread, trying to formulate something resembling a plan. Who said breaking into heaven was going to be easy? He just hadn’t expected it would involve breaking into a historical treasure halfway around the world.

 

Wrapping his arms around his torso, Sam looks back up at Cass. “How’s Gadreel?” he asks, switching the subject since nobody seemed to have anything substantial to add about their possible expedition.

 

Cass tips his head and meets Sam’s eyes before answering. “He’s doing better, but that spell hit him hard. It would have been a lot easier to heal if he had not also been bleeding at the time. I don’t think he will be able to help us retrieve the ingredients though. It’s a miracle he even survived. Well…” Cass wasn’t sure what constituted as a miracle anymore, the ideals of heaven seeming so switched around now. Gadreel surviving was probably more luck than any divine intervention. God has seemingly left the building.

 

Silence rings through the room. Dean stops pacing and sits down once more, picking up his shotgun and continuing with the maintenance. All they could hear was the weather outside, their breathing and the soft sound of a rag against metal.

 

“I won’t be well by tomorrow,” Cass states, voice seeming to crackle in the dull room.

 

“Won’t be well?” Sam asks. “What do you mean?”

 

Dean makes a small movement in Castiel’s direction. “He lost some of his mojo in the last fight. Apparently he can’t zap us places.”

 

“Will we have to wait on collecting the herb then?”

 

Castiel clears his throat. “I would not advise that. I don’t exactly know when I am going to regain my ability for group transport.”

 

Dean snorted. Cass sounded like something out of Star Trek.

 

“So, what, we’ll have to fly there via airplane then?”

 

Dean tenses at this suggestion, shooting his brother a look that indicated he wasn’t pleased at Sam bringing that up. Sam shrugs in return.

 

“That would seem like the only remaining option,” Castiel clarifies.

 

“C’mon man. Don’t you think you’ll be good to go in a couple of days?” Dean grunted out. He might dislike travel-by-angel, it might leave him slightly nauseous or constipated, but it wasn’t terrifying. At least he knew he would be arriving in one piece.

 

“Most likely not.”

 

“We’ll just fly there, Cass says he knows the way through the tombs, so it can’t be that dangerous. You can stay behind if you-”

 

“I’m not staying behind, Sam.”

 

And Sam just rolled his eyes. He knew that there was no way in hell (or out of it) that Dean would let himself and Castiel fly across the globe as part of a hunt without him, but there was no better way of getting Dean to acquiesce than to suggest that he stay left out. However, Sam wasn’t searching for a fight tonight.

 

“Let’s just sleep on it and figure out our game plan tomorrow,” he suggested, falling back against his bed, “there’s no use in working now while we’re all exhausted,” _and cold_ , he added mentally.

 

“I should return to Gadreel,” and no sooner had Cass uttered those words, then he vanished from the room.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and continued cleaning their guns.

 

“Dean, you need sleep.”  
  


“Proper weapon maintenance is essential for a good hunter.”

 

“And so is sleep. Please,” he said after a pause that stretched on, Dean not moving from his chair, “you can clean them tomorrow when you’ll be more effective and thorough than you are while half asleep.”

 

It was a bullshit reason that Sam was putting out there, Dean could clean their weapons set in his sleep, but he accepted the excuse for what it was and climbed onto his bed, not even bothering to put away the cleaning kit or change out of his jeans.

 

He quickly wrapped himself in the quilt. “Cold,” he said as the reality of the harsh weather finally hit him.

  
“Yeah,” Sam replied, already half asleep.


	2. A Slow Start to a Long Day

 

Chapter Two  
A Slow Start to a Long Day

 

The blinking red light of the bedside alarm-clock read five am. Sam groaned, willing his body to fall back asleep, but as he tossed and turned a couple times more, he realized that wasn’t happening.

 

He didn’t want to leave the bed, as gross as it seemed, it was still warmer than the rest of the hotel room which was ice cold. With a sigh he forced his body to sit up and then finally stand, wandering over to the small table and the partially disassembled guns to continue cleaning them. He figured Dean might appreciate the gesture once he woke up -- especially considering that he probably wouldn’t enjoy where their conversation about Egypt would inevitably end.

 

He shook his head as he oiled up a rag. Egypt. How inconvenient. Although considering the global apocalypse they managed to circumvent, he supposes it’s a miracle they never had to leave the country before… A trip to Scotland to nab Crowley’s bones was all, and in that situation Castiel simply flew them there.

 

He continued cleaning their guns, organizing their weapons, and checking their stock of salt and holy water until Dean stirred two hours later. The movement from this work, at least, seemed to keep him somewhat warm.

 

“Why so early Sammy?”

 

He snorted, resisting the urge to whisk the covers off of his drowsy brother. “I thought it would be prudent to get going. Maybe check out of this dump a bit early?”

 

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. The more awake he was the more cold he was and the more he noticed his aching muscles from yesterday’s hunt. His body feels as if it’s been through a meat grinder and he doesn’t want to move.

 

“Hey!” Sam barked, flicking him lightly with the dirty rag. “You might want to get up before the bed bugs get you.”

  
Dean groaned at Sam’s snickering, but launched himself from the bed anyway. Knowing this place, he might actually have bed bugs and they don’t need even more creepy crawlies to deal with.

 

“I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled, wondering whether it was worth it to change into a new pair of clothes. He hadn’t taken a shower last night either and stank of blood and sweat and resolved that personal hygiene was important enough to him to stumble into the bathroom, practically slamming the door shut behind him.

 

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s antics, but settled down and opened his laptop, looking up flights into Cairo.

 

He gave a low whistle. They weren’t cheap, but they were using scammed money one way or another so he supposed it didn’t matter. There was a plane leaving that evening which would be perfect for them to catch. He booked three seats despite the fact that they hadn’t actually talked about going yet, but he didn’t want the flight to fill up and for them to be out of options.

 

“Um, Cass?” he tried tentatively, unsure as to when the angel was listening or could respond. “Dean’s in the shower right now, but uh, I thought that the three of us could talk about our plans and whatnot after he gets out? I don’t know if you’re busy right now or…”

 

There was a whoosh and the familiar rush of air before Castiel appeared in the small room. “You are up early,” he observed.

 

“Yeah, decided to get moving I guess.”

 

They sat in silence and Sam clicked absentmindedly on a couple things on the laptop screen, not really paying attention to what he was doing, more looking for something to fill the time.

 

The water from the shower stopped and a couple minutes later Dean emerged, sparing Castiel a brief nod before walking to his duffel and changing into new, and clean, clothes. He was still scrubbing his hair dry as he walked over to the duo, standing by the table since there wasn’t a third chair. He crossed his arms, already on the defensive.

 

“So what’s the plan?”

 

“We should fly to Egypt as soon as possible.”

  
Sam looked up at his brother as the angel was speaking, but Dean had apparently mentally prepared himself for the reality of airplanes. His expression hadn’t budged.

 

“There’s a flight leaving later today from the airport a town over. It’s direct to Cairo,” Sam said, eyes still never leaving Dean, “we can catch it easily if we start driving in a couple hours.”

 

“Cass, you’re coming with us, right? On the airplane?”

 

Castiel tilted his head. He hadn’t planned on it, instead thinking that he would meet Sam and Dean once they had arrived, but he knew humans derived comfort over having friends near in stressful situations. Perhaps that’s what Dean was asking of him since his angelic powers would be of little use in their current state if a situation were to arise.

 

“Yes,” he said, “if it is of no inconvenience to you I think I will ride in this airplane.”

 

Sam smiled at the over-enunciated way Castiel formed air-o-plane, and went back to clicking nonsense on the computer.

 

“Well, you better reserve us those tickets, Sammy,” Dean directed at him.

 

He mumbled, “I already have,” but no one heard him. Dean started packing everything away and Castiel told him that he should check on Gadreel one last time before the trip, but that he will be back for the car ride to the airport.

 

Sam closed his computer after a little bit and began to wind the ethernet cable into a tight ball. He supposed they should keep it if they ever wind up in another shitty motel with no wifi. At least they were about to leave this place…

 

Dean was carrying various items back out to the impala. It had snowed more overnight and they would need to chain the tires. He sighed. More work, more unnecessary work.

 

Opening the trunk he heaved out the set of snow chains and began fixing them to the car. He let out a grunt when Sam asked if he needed help who just shrugged and walked back into the room to do one last sweep of the place, making sure they weren’t accidentally leaving anything behind.

 

When the impala was chained up and the two of them checked out, they stood by the car, glancing at each other somewhat awkwardly.

 

“Do we wait for him or…” Sam could see his breath in the cold, swirling in small puffs after each word he spoke.

 

“Nah. It’s cold. He can pop in when he’s finished,” as if to make sure, Dean turned and looked at the sky before saying, “hey, we’re going to hit the road. You can join us when you’re ready.” He shot Sam a grin before climbing in to the driver’s side and starting the engine as Sam slid in next to him.

 

They didn’t have to wait long. Cass popped in while turning onto the main road from the nearly empty parking lot. He’s visited them so many times in the car that Dean didn’t even startle at the sudden intrusion.

 

“About time, man,” he muttered, but was silent after that.

 

Castiel didn’t know what to think about driving. It was slow, and you couldn't do anything while confined in the small and bumpy space. He felt incredibly useless and could hardly stop his mind from wandering to everything else that he could be doing.

 

But at the same time it was relaxing, and somewhat freeing. For brief moments he could understand the romance of an open road and why this lifestyle at times seemed so appealing. Castiel had decided long ago that deriving pleasure from simple things is one of the quintessential parts of humanity.

 

They arrived in the city sooner than they had initially expected. Dean had been pushing the speed limit nearly the whole time, hardly realizing it, and they turned into the airport parking lot with plenty of time to spare, but he just drove along, not settling in any particular space.

 

Dean worried his lip. “We have to find someplace safe to store baby, especially if we’re going to be gone for any good stretch of time. I am not ditching her in someplace where thieves probably troll for unattended vehicles.”

 

Sam thought that was a fair point, although was decently sure that he was just stalling walking into the actual building. He glanced at his brother who was pulling temporarily into an empty space.  “I mean, we can find some sort of empty lot?” he suggested, “I don’t know where exactly she’ll be safe.”

 

“Can you zap her to Bobby’s?” Dean asked, throwing an arm over the back seat and looking at Castiel. Maybe because the Impala wasn’t a person it would be easier to carry along.

 

His line of thinking wasn’t exactly wrong. Castiel could carry things with him even with his dilapidating grace, he just wasn’t sure how good he could land anything besides himself. With people, he was afraid of crushing them or imploding them or suffocating them in a wall… he just didn’t want to take the risk, but if he were transporting inanimate objects...

 

“I might break it accidentally,” he told Dean truthfully.

 

“How boke?”

 

Castiel shrugged. “Nothing irreparable, I’m just,” he cleared his throat, “I’m just not comfortable with my ability to set things down gently or with much accuracy.”

 

“Sounds better than ditching her in this city,” he gruffed and opened his door, stepping out of the car.

 

Sam and Castiel followed, walking around the car towards Dean.

 

“I will see you soon,” Castiel nodded, and reached out pressing two fingers against the black side.

 

Angel transportation was halfway like flying and halfway like teleportation. It was a rush of wings and air and space, but it also dealt with a compression of time and matter. His grace weakened and he could feel the Impala slipping through his grasp, but he held on tight, nearly stumbling as he landed in front of Bobby’s house, the car not too far behind.

 

The loudest pop echoed out suddenly and nearly startled Cass. He looked at the car. It arrived in one piece, but had slammed to the ground with such force that he had compressed the tires into bursting. The rims were slightly bent, and he assumed the wheels would need to be completely replaced, but other than that it was in fine condition.

 

He was pretty proud of himself.

 

Bobby, however, came rushing out of the house, shotgun in hand. He lowered the weapon once he saw Castiel and shut his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. “What in the hell is goin’ on?”

 

“I brought Dean’s car here to store it, but my Grace… it is difficult for me to carry things and I broke part of it during the landing.”

 

Bobby eyed the Chevy and sighed, looking at the state of the car. “Dean is gonna kill you,” he sighed.

 

The angel just shrugged. “I warned him about the possibility of damage and he chose to have me transport it despite such risk. I absolve myself of the responsibility.”

 

Bobby chuckled. “I’ll fix it for ya while you boys run around Egypt. Just do me a favor and stay safe.”

 

“We will of course try to take as much caution as possible in any given situation.”

  
The old hunter just rolled his eyes. “Alright, get out of here ya idjit.”


	3. Why is it Always Demons?

 

Chapter Three  
Why is it  _Always_ Demons?

 

Flying had gotten a lot easier with the invention of e-ticket machines. The less the Winchesters had to interact with official TSA people, the better off they were in Sam’s eyes. He was still nervous though. They had never tried to fly internationally with their fake IDs, and he assumed customs would be a bit more rigorous with their identity checking. He just had to cross his fingers and hope that the people who made their passports were good (and he meant good).

 

They didn’t have any identification for Castiel, but since they could print out the ticket ahead of time, Castiel would just pop back with them after they had moved through security. If there was one person they were sure of being able to get on the plane, it was the angel. Although considering that was the one person who could get to Egypt without a plane, Sam wasn’t so sure that was a win on their behalf.

 

He shook his head, trying to clear the negative thoughts from his mind. _Positive thinking_ , he reminded himself, _positive thoughts_.

 

“Alright!” Dean said as the last of their tickets were printed. “Let’s go board us a plane.” He thwacked Sam in the chest with the thick paper, and took off towards security. Sam just smiled. Maybe Dean had gotten over his fear of flying, but he was still waiting for shit to hit the fan.

 

But as they slowly padded through security, everything went smoothly. Their passports scanned fine and there was no problems with their bags. (Considering all they had thrown in there were semi-dirty clothes and Sam’s laptop, that wasn’t surprising.) They had mastered the face of calm placency and were soon sitting in the black pleather chairs by gate E-3.

 

“I guess it would be easier if Cass zapped into a bathroom stall. There’s too many eyes everywhere else.”

 

Dean grunted in response.

 

“We should probably do that sooner rather than later, just incase…” Sam trailed off.

 

Castiel was bringing a limited weapons arsenal. Since the various guns and knives were relatively lightweight and easily attached to his person, they decided that there wasn’t too much of a risk that Cass would screw them up in transit. Besides -- they couldn’t think of another way to get the necessities past security.

 

Dean didn’t make an effort to move from his seat and Sam slightly shoved at him with his elbow. When his brother still showed no desire to stand up, he just sighed and rolled his eyes.

 

“You stay here. I’ll try calling to Cass.”

 

Standing up, Sam began to meander towards the public restrooms. They were partially hidden in a corner of the terminal, difficult to spot at first glance. His eyes flicked through the crowds briefly before he slipped past the door.

 

The stalls were empty, something he was eternally grateful for. Nevertheless, he entered one of the pastel creme boxes, locking himself in. He cleared his throat.

 

“Uhm. I’m in a bathroom stall. Dean and I made it past security so-”

  
Sam was cut off by Castiel’s abrupt arrival. He, however, had appeared in the same stall and Sam found himself squished against the left side, the toilet paper dispenser jabbing into his lower back as he tried to escape the tight confines.

 

“Pardon me,” Cass said almost immediately, disappearing with a flutter of wings.

 

Sam opened the stall door and stepped out, meeting face to face with the angel. He smiled. “Was your trip okay?”

 

Castiel tilted his head. “I merely waited until the signal that you and Dean were clear. Where is Dean?” he asked as if suddenly realising they were one Winchester short.

 

“He’s by the gate,” Sam rushed to explain before switching the subject abruptly. “Did you manage to bring the, uh, things,” he stuttered out, gesturing at Castiel’s general person.

 

“The weapons? Yes.”

 

Sam’s eyes widened for a half a second as he rushed to shush the angel. “Don’t. Don’t talk about that. We don’t want to get in trouble.”

 

He chuckled nervously and Castiel just nodded in understanding.

 

“It is very uncomfortable to have everything attached to me though. Do you have the bag to put them in?”

 

Sam nodded, slipping the backpack he had on, off his shoulders and unzipping the main pocket. Cass undid his trenchcoat and opened the sides up to reveal the array of their hunter’s arsenal. Sam vaguely thought about how this made their exchange ten times more shady, that Cass looked like a classing mobster trading illegal goods, but he tried to clamp down on those thoughts, and the nerves that bubbled up as the reality of what they were doing sunk in.

 

The last time him and Dean had fought something on a plane, they were only equipped with holy water and their Dad’s journal. That was nerve-wracking. The nervousness that sprung from hiding guns on an international flight was a different type of anxiety. Sam didn’t know which he prefered.

 

They finished stowing their belongings and exited into the larger terminal, Sam leading the way back to their gate and finding Dean seemingly soundly asleep in the same seat Sam left him in.

 

“Probably best not to wake him,” he murmured to Cass, “he gets nervous about flying.”

 

Castiel looked back at Sam. “He spends an above average amount of time driving or riding in a car. His chances of dying on the road are astronomically higher than his chances of dying in a plane.”

 

Sam just pursed his lips. “Thanks Cass. I’m sure that would be really reassuring if he were awake to hear that.”

 

The angel nodded in response and Sam wasn’t sure if he had actually picked up on the sarcasm or not. He decided it didn’t really matter though and settled farther into his seat, trying to get himself comfortable, his eyes dangerously lidded.

 

“Are you doing alright, Sam?”

  
Sam blinked and looked up.

 

“Yes?”

 

Castiel squinted, but remained silent.

 

“Is there a reason you’re asking?”

 

“After Gadreel evacuated your body… he was supposed to be healing you and I don’t know what type of process was interrupted. We have been so consumed with finding the access into heaven I am afraid we have been neglecting to properly inquire about your health.”

 

Sam flushed. That caring meant a lot coming from Cass. “I’m doing fine,” he responded, unconsciously taking a large breath, “my body’s probably seen better days, but,” he shrugs, “I’m managing and I’m alive and I suppose that’s all I can ask for at this point.”

 

Cass knitted his eyebrows. Managing was the word Sam had used to describe his Lucifer induced torment after leaving the cage. Castiel had gotten a sample of that madness and it was terrifying. There was probably more going on with Sam’s health than he was letting on, but this wasn’t the time to press for details. He was worried about his friend, but right now they had a task and were in the middle of an airport. Castiel wasn’t sure exactly what type of conversation was appropriate in such a venue, but he was fairly confident that post-demonic magic and healing wasn’t included.

The hours faded away. Castiel observed Sam and Dean sleeping. He still didn’t sleep, enough of his angelic power was left that it was not a necessity, but he did feel drowsy, a heavy feeling of tiredness that never bothered him before and he would probably end up needing to in a few weeks time. At that time, he mused, he might be more human than angel.

 

Dean shifted, but didn’t startle. These were probably the most peaceful moments of their current lives, but when the flight attendants began calling sections to seat, he was forced to shake them awake.

 

“Whuzzat?” Dean grumbled.

 

“They are boarding now,” Castiel replied, gently murmuring.

 

Dean punched Sam awake and began collecting their bags.

 

“Ow,” he mumbled, rubbing his arm where his brother’s fist had made contact.

 

“Let’s go, Sammy.”

 

Dean grabbed both of their bags, heaving them over his shoulder unceremoniously and taking his place in line, Castiel and Sam right behind him. They inched forward, slowly before reaching the flight attendant who took their ticket with a large grin plastered on her face.

 

“You’re all set!” she exclaimed after successfully scanning their boarding pass.

 

Dean gave a curt nod with a pressed smile and marched on forward. His overly defensive posture gave his jitters away to Sam, but to anyone else he looked like a vaguely irritated hick. He sighed loudly when they had to wait for people stowing their bags to clear the aisle and tisked when pair of teenagers were accidentally in their seats, one row over from where they were supposed to be.

 

“Dean, would you just cool it?” Sam hissed at they took their seats. “We don’t need some alpha male confrontation on our hands.”

 

“Well I’m sorry these flights don’t move smoothly,” he hissed back, body pressed tightly against his seat. He was tense, his muscles gone rigid. If he had been wearing a mask of irritability before, it was crumbling down now.

 

“Dean!”

 

The last thing they needed was a full on panic attack. Dean focused on his breathing, in, out, in out. Calm. Focusing on something else, anything else besides the thin metal tube they were sat in. And perhaps the momentary relaxation worked, but when the engines began to whir, and the plane lurched into motion, sweat began to bead on Dean’s forehead.

 

Castiel leaned over Sam to speak with Dean. “The chance that you are going to perish on this plane is significantly less than the chance you take every time you are on the road in the Impala.”

 

Sam thought maybe they should just stick Metatron and Dean in the same room at that moment since the look that he was leveling at Cass could kill. In any other situation, the angel’s botched attempt at comfort would be hilarious, but at the moment Sam was tasked with Damage control. He didn’t need Dean attacking Cass at the moment, although he did suppose that it would take his mind off of being in the air.

 

“Calm down you two, no one is going to perish.”

 

A light ding resonated throughout the plane.

 

“Please direct your attention to our flight attendants as they demonstrate what to do in emergency situations.”

  
Dean’s gaze snapped to them like lightning, fingers gripping the seat tightly. A portly woman holding a detached seat belt ring was showcasing how to tighten it, eyes casually surveying the crowd, occasionally making eye contact with the patrons. When her gaze fell over the Winchesters, however, those crystal blue eyes flashed completely black for not even a half a second, so quickly that Dean thought he had drove himself to hallucinations with his panic until Sam uttered a hushed “uh oh,” from beside him.


	4. Phantom Traveler

 

Chapter Four

Phantom Traveler

 

Dean took another breath, shutting his eyes. “Sam, plese tell me that what I think I just saw, did not just happen.”

 

He cracked an eye open and was met with a pained grimace from Sam. “I take it that it did really happen.” Sam nodded. “Great.” There was a couple moments pause before Dean flailed a hand, “this is what I mean when I say:  _we just can’t catch a break, can we_?”

 

Castiel was still squinting at the woman who had barely stuttered in her speech. If any of the other fliers notices the brief change in eye color, they didn’t show it, but he was perplexed for different reasons.

 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Dean directed at Cass.

 

“The flight attendant. I can’t see her. I mean, I can see her, but I can’t see her.”

 

“You mean the fact that she’s a demon?” Sam asks, “you can normally see their true face or whatever.”

 

“Yes, and the fact that I can’t see hers… it’s troubling.”

 

“Does it have something to do with you grace, or lack there of?”

 

Sam leveled a glare at his brother for his blunt question.

 

“Probably.”

 

“You look worried.”

 

“The reason I have been able to ever say that, that I have not been tailed is because I can tell when demons are possessing people near me. I don’t know how long I haven’t been able to see them. I could theoretically be compromised.”

 

Sam rested his face in his palm, digging the pads of his fingers into the side of his face. Dean however just shrugged.

 

“So?” he asked, “it’s not like we’re doing anything they don’t know about. So we’re trying to find the door to Heaven, so what?”

 

“So what?” Castiel gritted out, turning to face Dean as completely as he could given the limited room in the plane seats, “so it is not just the fact that we are looking for the door, but that we’ve essentially found it. If some of Crowley’s or Abaddon's people know how to access it. Think! Think of what could happen if the demons are the first to access a Heaven completely devoid of angels. Think of what could happen to all those souls.”

 

“That would be bad,” Dean conceded.

 

“Very bad, but first, we have to take care of the demon that’s on this plane. There’s nothing else we can do about your situation now, Cass, sorry.”

 

“No, you are correct Sam. We need to kill that Demon.”

 

“Okay, first can we just make it through take off?” Dean asked, voice raising a few octaves.

 

The flight attendants had buckled themselves into their seats, the plane gaining speed until it tilted off the ground. There were a few shakes, but for the most part it was a smooth accent, not that it made much of a difference to Dean.

 

The slow crawl up to maximum altitude seemed to take forever. Dean distantly observed the navy blue puke bad that was resting in a pocket with the safety manual and a flight catalogue. He vaguely wondered how many times that particular amenity was used. He decided he didn’t want to add to whatever number that was.

 

Besides, Sam would never let him live it down.

 

Dean decided to expand his energy observing the demonic flight attendant. At least it gave his mind something else to focus on as well. She seemed to never leave her partner's side and Dean let out an anguished sigh. Being subtle could be tricky.

 

“How do we get her alone?” he hissed at Sam.

 

His brother just shrugged. “I suppose wait until she’s by herself.”

 

“She’s never by herself.”

 

“Dean, cool it,” Sam bit out, voice laced with a hint of irritation. “We’re not even twenty minutes into the flight yet. I’m sure they’ll get separated once people start requesting the flight attendants. In the mean time, we just watch.”

 

“Easier said than done,” he grumbled back.

 

Another ten minutes passed. The silver, metal cart that signaled the arrival of drinks rolled down the hall, the two flight attendants guiding it. They wheeled past the trio on their way to the front of the plane, and began slowly making their way towards the back.

 

No sooner had they started than the normal, human (as far as they know) flight attendant tisked. “Hey Ashley, I forgot to open the new crate of Coke cans. Can you rush back and grab them real quick?”

 

She was in front of the cart, and since it took up the whole isle, it made more sense for “Ashley” to get the cans than the other woman who would have had to partake in some particularly exciting parkour in order to vault over their equipment.

 

The demon inwardly snarled. It didn’t want to go back, it didn’t want to be alone, it had seen the Winchesters and their angel pet. It knew what happened to creatures who ran interference with that team.

  
But, there wasn’t a reasonable excuse for her not to retrieve the cans, so she nodded with a smile, said, “of course,” and quickly walked towards the back of the plane, separated from the passengers with a thin drape. She could only hope that the brother’s didn’t take notice of her.

 

She walked past their row and didn’t turn back despite her desire to see if they were tailing her. The sounds of the engines outside was too loud and she wasn’t able to hear the sound of muffled footprints on the worn carpet even if she tried.

 

Pausing at the curtain, she took a breath, only opening as much of the dull, creamy fabric as she could before sliding into the small compartment.

 

Before she could think, a firm arm pressed against her back, holding her against the wall. A cool knife blade was pressed against her neck as she was slowly turned around and brought face to face with the two Winchesters, the largest one, Sam, keeping her pinned.

 

“You know, we weren’t even looking’ to hunt some Demons.” Dean gave a sarcastic laugh and a sadistic smile. “Guess you just wanted to show up anyway.”

 

“Why are you on this plane?” Sam demanded, thrusting her against the wall with an increased amount of force. “Are you tailing us?”

 

“No, no!” Her breaths, despite not needing them, began to quicken. There was fear in her eyes. “I swear I had no idea you were going to be here. I work here.”

 

“Like hell you do.”

 

Sam pressed the blade enough so that a trickle of blood ran down her neck, a single spark ignited.

 

“I’m laying low. This war between Abaddon and Crowley? I don’t want to choose the losing side, so I’m just hanging out top-side until one of them wins.”

 

“Why are we supposed to believe you?” Sam asks, never breaking eye contact.

 

The demon shrugs. Dean glances towards his brother. “Hiding out for you own self preservation. Pretty lowly. Pretty cowardly.” He tilted his head. “It does sound like something a demon would do though.”

 

“Check the records, I’ve been here awhile. No deaths, nothing mysteriously evil. I’ve just been little Ashley, humble flight attendant.”

 

Sam relaxed, pulling the knife away from the demon’s throat. She exhaled, her nerves going with that last breath and cracked her neck, the typical demon cockyness returning. “Well, after that fun experience,” she grabbed the package of Coke cans that was sitting on the counter beside them, “I think I’ll get back to my job.”

 

“Not so fast,” Sam said calmly, pressing an open palm to her chest to prevent her from leaving. “You didn’t say anything about keeping clean for eternity.”

 

Dean smirked. “From the way it sounded to us, you were just gonna pick killin’ back up once the power struggle for Hell evens out.”

 

“You know, I’ve kept poor Ashley alive in here. I’m not like most demons who ride their humans hard, leave them dead within weeks. I like having the company. It’s fun to hear them scream.” Her face fell into a serious glare. “If you kill me, you kill Ashley. Plus, I don’t know how you’re going to explain to anyone why you’re leaving a dead body in the back cabin of a plane. Talk about a way to get the FBI on you ass, fast.”

 

She moved to exit again, but Sam just pressed her firmly into the wall. She could overthrow him at any time, but was weary of the odd power balance at play.

 

“Killing a demon isn’t the only way to get rid of it,” Sam snarked.

 

“What were we told all those years ago Sam? Hell is hell for demons too?”

 

Sam nodded once, a stone smile still in place. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus…”

 

The body twitched, the head glitching between reality and something else. The demon began to let out a long wail and Sam quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, praying that no one had heard the deathly cry. With supernatural power, Dean was flung across the room, but Sam’s grip on the woman never waned and eventually the exorcism was finished, a billowing smoke-filled column descending into the aether.

  
“We are never flying again.”


	5. Arriving in Egypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I am writing this fanfic on a time constraint while I am already very busy, I haven’t put any research into Egypt. I try to keep descriptions as relatively vague as I can without it being a detriment to my writing, but this is just a general disclaimer to let you know that I actually have no idea what I’m talking about.

 

 

Chapter Five:  
Arriving in Egypt

 

 

“So this is Egypt,” Dean said as they exited the plane.

 

The first thing that hit them was the heat. Dry waves that raked against your throat with every inhale, never letting you forget the proximity of sand and desolate emptiness that was nestled close to the city. Sam regretted his flannel, even if if was the only layer between him and the air, it began to cling to his skin, his sweat the only adhesive.

 

“This is miserable.”

 

But then they were stepping inside the wide doors of Cairo International Airport, and the blast of cold air-conditioning hit them. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever felt something as lovely as that temperature change, Dean just seems to be glad that he’s back on solid ground.

 

Apparently Castiel’s sense of temperature hadn’t been altered. He was still as immune to hot and cold as any other angel with full grace capabilities, although he did look a bit odd in his usual trench coat and suit combo. Not only did it look like uncomfortable travel-ware, he looked like he should be blistering under so many layers.

 

“We should probably get Capone here a change of clothes if we don’t want him attracting too much attention.”

 

Dean glanced at the angel, hair mused up as if he had just woken up, and nodded. Cass definitely stuck out like a sore thumb here, but Sam and him weren’t doing much better heavy jeans and long sleeves.

 

“At least take your jacket off, man,” Dean said to castiel, who shrugged off the tan overcoat without hesitation and slung it over his arm.

 

“And the suit jacket,” Sam prodded further.

 

Castiel just glared at them, but unbuttoned the black blazer just the same, peeling it off his skin and allowing it to join the coat over his arm.

 

“And the tie, man, c’mon,” Dean added, reaching forward to undo the blue fabric around Castiel’s neck, Sam’s hands joining his to undo the top couple buttons of the white dress shirt.

 

The angel looked vaguely annoyed. “Was that really necessary?” he croaked out.

 

“Yeah, dude, you looked like you were about to die of heat stroke,” Sam told him, raising a brow.

 

Castiel sighed and walked forward with the intention of leaving them behind, but quickly realized that he had no idea where they were headed to. He stopped and waited for the brothers to catch up and tell him that, apparently, they were supposed to take a right at the intersection.

 

They lugg their bags around for awhile longer, following the little blue signs that lead to the exit. Sam pauses before the door.

 

“I don’t want to go outside,” remembering the extreme heat they had been feeling moments before.

 

“Me either, Sammy, but you’re going to have to suck it up.”

 

He rolled his eyes and pushed the glass contraption open, once again being met with the immovable wall of heat. He could hear Dean mumble, “gross,” beside him, and considered it a small brotherly victory that big bro was just as miserable.

 

“So should we just hop in a cab?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam.”

 

“We only have USD.”

 

“I just exchanged all of your currency.” Cass tilted his head.

 

“What?”

 

He pointed at Sam’s pocket where he kept his wallet. “You should have Egyptian pounds now.”

 

Sam pulled the worn leather sheath out and flipped it open, grasping for the bills that were now colored and varied in size. He let out a huff of amusement. “Thanks Cass.”

 

Castiel nodded with the hint of a head tilt, “I still can, on occasion, be useful.”

 

Sam laughed because he was pretty sure Cass had just made a joke. He stepped out to the curb and flagged down one of the many taxis that were waiting in the street for sleepy travellers who hadn’t arranged any other transportation to their destinations.

 

When a typical yellow cab pulled up in front of him, he quickly clambered into the front seat, Cass and Dean taking the back. The cab driver looked at them, sizing their pale faces and confused expressions up and asked, “where to?” in impeccable English.

 

“Uh,” Sam paused, clearly having not thought this through, “can you take us to the cheapest hotel that might have a vacancy?”

 

The driver snorted and released the emergency brake. He didn’t give any verbal confirmation, but since he had started driving, Sam assumed that there was some destination in mind. He looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with his brother, shrugging at the judgemental glare he was receiving.

 

The streets were crowded, packed with cars and pedestrians crossing at every opportunity. Some roads were impossibly narrow, and some many lanes wide. It varied as they drove through the city precariously. Dean’s knuckles were white as he gripped the side of the car, stiffening at every jerk and swerve their driver made.

 

Cass remained typically impassive, but then again, he wouldn’t be the one potentially dying if they were to get into a crash. He was getting bored though. Getting used to nearly instantaneous flight, it was difficult to adjust to the slow movement of the car, especially after they had just spent so many hours on the plane and before that in the Impala. He was restless, aching to stretch his wings.

 

Soon. Soon they might be in heaven and he can have the wide berth of a fresh dimension. For now, he’ll travel in the back seat of a beaten up cab with his old charge and his friend.

 

It was about an hour’s drive from the airport when the taxi pulled up to an worn motel, made out of old wood and rusty door handles. “Cheapest place in town,” the taxi driver said.

 

“It looks even worse than our last motel, and that’s saying something,” Sam muttered, leaning back so that Dean could hear him.

 

“You asked him to take us to the cheapest place,” he sassed back, “here we are.”

 

“I didn’t think I would have to specify that it would need to be habitable.”

 

“Sam!” Dean shoved open his door, barrelling out, still clutching his bag, done with his brother’s bitching.

 

Castiel followed on the other side and Sam just sighed. The taxi driver looked at him and pointed to the meter which was a glaring red sign ticking their mileage and cost.

 

“Eighty-four pounds,” the man deadpanned.

 

Sam sighed and once more pulled out his wallet, flicking through a couple of bills and trying to count out what he needed plus tip, but he was tired and the crazed events of the past week made him weary and unable to concentrate, so he instead pulled out the whole wad and handed it to the man.

 

“Keep the change,” he said, not caring if Dean and Cas were going to complain about it later. He was just done.

 

His two companions had already gone into the small lobby office, presumably to book a room. He squeezed into the space with the two of them, pushed against the counter, breathing the same exhaled breaths that they were. It was cramped, to put it mildly, but at least the area was air conditioned. He couldn’t imagine being this close to anyone in this weather outdoors.

 

“The clerk is making copies of our cards as we speak,” Dean told him, and Sam nodded, rapping his fingers against the hard countertop, his impatience clearly written on his face.

 

A petite woman slipped in through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, eyeing Sam who was rather tall and intimidating, even if he did look like he was about to collapse. She shifted her attention back to Dean.

 

“Here ya are,” she gave him back his card, “and here are your motel keys. I can grab another one if you need,” she said, trailing off, “I didn’t expect a third person to show up.”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Dean said, grabbing the keys from her, tossing one to Sam who caught it with impeccable reflexes. She just quirked an eyebrow at them as they left, taking long, lanky steps towards their room.

 

For all of the worn, dust-coated exterior would have you expect, the insides of the rooms were clean. Small, but tidy and functional. The sheets bore no signs of stains and the water ran smoothly both in the sink and in the shower.

 

“Jackpot, Dean muttered, walking to the far side of the room where a framed picture of some pyramids hung above a bed. “I get this one, you get the one below the creepy sphinxes.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes, but resolutely set his bag down on the blankets beneath another stock photo of the Egyptian stonework. This motel was obviously intended for the cheap tourists that might frequent the area. Castiel had simply taken a seat in the corner of the room by the television, watching the men unpack the bare minimum, then beginning to organize the weapons that had been hastily stowed in Sam’s backpack.

 

“I think we should wait until tomorrow before heading out. You two look awful.”

 

Dean glared at him, and Sam smiled from behind his brother. “We understand how important this is, Cass. We don’t have to wait until tomorrow. Dean and I can always power through.”

 

Dean snorted. “Yeah.” It was strung halfway between genuinity and sarcasm. Sam sent another glare in his direction, not that Dean noticed, too far concentrated on his belongings.

 

“The flight over here was stressful, especially with the demon exorcism. The sleep you attempted to get afterwards was not adequate for adults at your age. I would rather succeed at a later time, then die because you are not up to the task.” His voice was commanding, deep and loud, reminiscent of when they had first met him. His words were blunt, but Castiel had figured out awhile ago that was the best way to communicate with the Winchesters and get them to listen to you.

 

“Alright, we’ll sleep,” Dean said, pointedly wiping his bed clean of the debris left from his unpacking, “but it’ll take us longer to prepare in the morning if we don’t do it now.”

 

“Do not make me knock you out.”

 

Sam held his hands up. “No one is saying that. We’ll sleep, we’ll wake up and head out tomorrow, or this evening…” he trailed off, turning to Dean, “this way we’ll sleep through the day, anyway, and we’ll be able to get to the location at night when less people will be watching.”

 

“What, we don’t want to try to have the cover that the crowds will provide?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Sam replied, shaking his head, “not this time. I feel like we would stand out trying to get in, not blend like some pair of tourists.”

 

“Whatever,” Dean mumbled, but flopped onto the bed anyway.

 

“Dude, are you even going to change? Or shower?”

 

“No,” came a muffled response, his face buried in the soft pillow, “I didn’t do anything physically exerting today, so I don’t need one, and if I sleep in my clothes, I won’t have to get dressed tomorrow- tonight. Whatever”

 

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Gross, dude. We exorcised a demon, how is that not physically exerting? Plus the fact that we just traveled in our own mess for over ten hours.”

 

“You were the one holding her back, not me. I just said a couple words here and there. And I don’t give a shit about the fact that I was travelling in these. They’re still comfortable. Now Cass, if you want me to sleep, would you please tell Sam to shut up and stop criticizing every god damn thing about me?”

 

There was a ringing silence to greet him, however, Sam briefly looking around to see if he could spot the wayward angel. But Castiel had left awhile ago, leaving the brothers to their own devices, figuring that they would sleep better, as they always seem to do, if they were not pressured to keep his company.

  
He stood, nearly on top of the Great Pyramids of Giza, and looked over the expanse of the city, admiring what God’s creations have created themselves.


	6. Breakfast at Night

 

Chapter Six  
Breakfast at Night

 

Castiel knew they needed the rest. It was nine hours later when he reappeared in their room and both the Winchesters were sound asleep, bodies twisted around the thin sheets and blankets the hotel provided them with. He was tempted to let them lie there, postpone the trip a minute longer, but he had received word from Gadreel saying that there was a whisper that some demons might have found out what the Winchester’s were up to. It was probably just a rumor, but… he couldn’t let them stay like this for longer. So, stepping forward, he placed a flat palm on each of their arms and firmly grasped them.  
  


“It is time to head out. Our mission awaits us.”

 

Dean grunted and Sam attempted to bury himself further into the cocoon of blankets. Castiel tightened his lips and sharply inhaled before shaking them briefly.

 

“You need to awaken, now.”

 

“Calm down bossy britches, we’ll get there,” Dean grumbled, face still pillowed into the down fabric. “Make Sam get up first. He has to do the girly things like shower and dress.”

 

A pillow was flung at him from across the room, compliments of Sam. “Personal hygiene and the fact that I need to wear clothing is not girly. What are you even trying to say?”

 

Castiel stepped back as they continued to banter, obviously satisfied that they were now awake and would remain so. “I will go and get us breakfast.”

 

Cass needed food now. He got hungry and craved the sweet refreshment that eating brought him, but the taste hadn’t changed from the molecule-ridden confusion that came from being able to fully experience every fiber. It was like he had the worst part from both worlds. If there were one thing he was sure of, it was that falling from Heaven’s graces wasn’t neat, it was messy, everything coming at different, unexpected times. This was just one of those aspects.

 

There was a twenty-four hour diner that he went to, figuring that familiar food would do them good. Upon entering he ordered eggs and bacon and a couple waffles to go, deciding on breakfast food despite the fact that it was late in the evening. He popped into a local marketplace a few minutes later for some freshly chopped fruit salad, just as the last of the booths were closing for the day. Re-appearing in the room he found Sam and Dean surprisingly ready to go.

 

“Eat first,” he said before either of them had the chance to open their mouths. He placed the paper-bagged food on the main table and slid out a chair to sit down on, joining them at the table.

 

By the time he was situated, Dean had already started unpacking the bag and wolfing down whatever happened to be in the first container he opened. (It was the waffles.) Sam shook his head and pulled out the fruit salad, dishing himself a couple spoonfuls of some before placing the rest in the center of the table, and stealing a couple waffles before Dean could finish them off.

 

Castiel himself took a little of everything and then passed the bacon their direction. As he began to bite into the first strip, slowly chewing the salty meat, he realized that the brothers were staring at him.

 

And as he swallowed the substance, throat suddenly dry, everything scratching on the way down, he realized that he had never told them that he had started to need to eat again.

 

“You okay there, Cass?” Dean asked.

 

The angel opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He instead cleared his throat with a small “ahem,” and looked at his food with an intensity normally saved for, well, the Winchesters themselves.

 

“Are you just, trying out food? or…”

 

The unspoken question left the air crackling, and Cass found himself struggling for the first time to answer. Being unable to fly other’s was inconvenient, but he still had the base angel ability of flight. And even though he was physically weakened, he was still stronger than most humans, enough to still (nearly) carry the Impala.

 

However, there was something about admitting that he would starve, die, if he didn’t have access to something as basic as sustenance, was humiliating. It was more human to him than any of the other changes that had been happening so far.

 

His throat was dry so he just cracked out a broken, “or,” before taking a large bite, resolutely not looking at either of their faces.

 

The two brothers exchanged a glance, a renewed worry about the status of their angel apparent. The last thing they needed was to suddenly be without his power when they needed it. If it caught Cass by surprise at the wrong moment…

 

Neither of them said anything, however, they just continued to eat their breakfast in silence, which Castiel was eternally grateful for. Maybe he had picked up a few traits from the Winchesters themselves, but he did not want to be pitied by them or anyone else.

 

It didn’t take long for the trio to scarf down the remaining food. Cass cleared away the take out containers with a stuttered wave of his hand and stood up, Sam and Dean following him as they as they all exited from the motel room, remembering to grab the bag with an abbreviated assortment of their usual weapons arsenal.

 

They didn’t bother checking out, hopefully they would be back again to stay another night, instead it felt almost as if they were sneaking away under the dark blanket of the starry sky. They walked around a corner of the block to an empty looking side-street, cars parked along the side. Dean nodded his head towards a beaten down Camry, and Sam gave him an appraising look.

 

“Seriously? Not the car I would think of you picking.”

 

Dean huffed. “We’re trying to be inconspicuous, right? That car,” he said with another feeble wave in the direction of it, “is inconspicuous. A dime a dozen.”

 

Sam just shrugged and walked over to it, slipping a thin crow-bar from his jacket. He was suddenly nervous, sliding the tapered metal beneath the slat of the window. His heart always raced any time they committed some petty crime, although he would never admit it (Dean would never let him live it down).

 

He needn't have worried though. Half of the streetlights were out anyway and no one was looking out for a simple car thief. It was quiet, no commotion and not even a minute in he heard the telltale click of the lock coming undone, and bent down to swing the side-door open.

  
Dean appeared next to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Nice work Sammy. You’re always so good at that.”

 

He glared and brushed his brother’s hand away, meandering over to the passenger side which Dean had unlocked after scootching in.

 

“You don’t need my help with hot wiring the car do you?” he teased, eyebrows raised as Dean cut away at the plastic case hiding the car’s various wires.

 

“Haven’t needed your help in that department for ages,” he smirked back.

 

Sam just let out a small chuckle, barely audible over Dean’s ministrations. Considering how much his brother loved cars and adored the Impala, it has been a funny thing that Sam had always been better about breaking into them. It wasn’t a skill set that he was necessarily proud of, but as a little kid there wasn’t much that he could lord over his brother, there wasn’t a lot of things he was better at than Dean was, so he had always rubbed it in his face at every opportunity.

 

John had always laughed at their antics.

 

The car roared to life and Sam snapped out of his mini field trip through memory lane. Castiel had made it into the back seat despite locked doors that neither of the brothers had remembered to open, and Dean shot him a sideways glance as he shifted the car into reverse to pull out of the spot.

 

“Let’s get this mother fucking herb,” Dean said with an emphasis on the dramatic as he peeled out of the spot and tore through the streets.

 

Sam huffed out a long laugh as he let some of his anxiety get left behind on the drive over. Castiel just sat in the back, watching the two brothers interact. There was an oddly jovial quality to the air and he thought it strange that humans could sometimes put the worst of fear aside during desperate times.

  
The drive wasn’t terrifyingly long, but the area was slightly outside of the bustling city limits. The further they drove out, the larger a blanket of silence fell over the car, tense. It was bizarre considering they weren’t even going to face anything, just breaking into and out of a pyramid. There was no monster that they knew of, and they were fairly sure that no one was after them (and if someone was, they could probably take whoever Metatron, or someone else, had sent to do their dirty work). There was just something off about the night that had set Team Free Will on edge.


	7. Breaking and Entering into the Pyramids

 

Chapter Seven  
Breaking and Entering into the Pyramids

 

The parking lot they pulled into was empty, not a single car resided in there despite the fact that Dean was sure there had to be some type of security. He slowly pulled into a spot and cut the engine, the three of them taking a moment to breath as complete silence enveloped them. The air was still and cool.

 

Finally Cass’ deep, gravelly voice cut through. “We should get going.”

 

In an unplanned synchronization, they opened their doors and got out, slamming them back in with one large bang. Dean glared at the other two and muttered, “shh,” before taking off ahead of them a couple feet and then stopping.

 

“Where are we going Cass?” he asked, stopping to turn around.

 

Castiel pointed a little to the left from where Dean had been heading. “It’s down that path.”

 

He indicated a worn area near some plants, not particularly obscured, but difficult to spot without the brightness of day leading their way.

 

Dean turned once more to take off but Sam just called after him. “Dude. Weapons?”

 

Dean huffed and strode back over to the car as Sam opened the trunk, retrieving their limited arsenal that they had packed away and passing out various instruments, before locking the empty sack in the backseat.

 

Over where Cass had indicated, there were a set of dusty sandstone stairs that lead a little way down to a sheltered trail, nestled in a valley created by these monuments. There were many entrances to various tombs and all of them looked similar, small differences marking ground from ground. He hoped Cass knew what he was looking for.

 

“I think,” the angel started, stopping suddenly in front of a small opening, “I think this is where we need to go.”

 

“That didn’t sound too sure,” Sam snarked. Dean tended to agree with the sentiment, but didn’t voice anything.

 

Castiel didn’t dignify it with a response though, and ducked through the narrow opening, almost having to bend himself in half. Dean and Sam followed, allowing the angel to take the lead.

 

They had walked maybe twenty feet in, the path leading downwards, and it was now pitch-black. Sam fumbled with the lantern he had brought and Dean clicked on his flashlight. Castiel apparently had perfect vision even in the dark, but Sam still had tossed him a light to turn on. They didn’t know when Cass might not have his sight in these conditions, and the extra light would help them anyway, even if it was unnecessary to the angel.

 

The long and narrow channel was plain, smooth and boring, nothing like Sam had expected from films that depicted the extravagant insides. They continued to walk and Sam was beginning to wonder how long this chamber was. He was about to voice his concerns when they had stepped into a large room, a door across from their entrance lined with writing and gold. This was the Egyptian art that he had come to expect.

 

The brother’s stepped forward, adamant to continue their quest, but Castiel put an arm out to stop them.

 

“That is a fake chamber,” he said, nodding at the fanciful motifs. “If you continue through that door you will find yourself trapped in a nearly airtight room, and you will most likely suffocate to death, starve if nothing else.”

 

“Where are we supposed to go, then?” Dean demanded, turning to face Castiel.

 

The angel faced the opening from which they came, next to it was a small opening, certainly overshadowed by the intricate works on the opposite wall. He pointed to the small hole. “It is to deceive potential thieves, which I suppose we technically are.”

 

“Cass, are we going to have to crawl through there?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “Lead the way.”

 

Cass swallowed and walked up to the dark passageway. He dropped to his knees, facing the empty darkness. He could feel a cool breeze on his face and was reassured that this was the right direction. Pulling his arm forward to rest his right palm on the ground, he began another descent into the depths of this pyramid.

 

He could hear Sam and Dean talking behind him, but their voices were muffled out by the size barrier from where he was and he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He soon heard a shuffling and presence near him and he assumed that they had finally decided to join his crawling escapade.

 

This time the path wasn’t too long, maybe ten feet at most. When they emerged, they entered a fabulous gold room with bright turquoise at every corner, extravagance like Castiel had never seen before in his time on earth.

 

“Wow!” Sam said after he had made it though, righting himself and brushing off some dirt. He walked around examining various artifacts. “I can’t believe we’re in this chamber, the stuff in here… I can’t imagine what it’s worth, plus its historical relevance...”

 

“Yeah?” Dean asked, “maybe we can nab some of it and then sell it. Be set for life in terms of money.”

 

Sam fixed him with a death glare, “we’re not stealing from the pyramids. If there were ever a greater invitation to get cursed- and even if we did take things that were non magical, how would we even sell the contents without admitting that we were breaking and entering?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I’m sure there are black market deals for these types of things.”

 

Sam shook his head, disgruntled.

 

“And we are stealing, anyway. Don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy.”

 

“Stealing a piece of herb for a spell to hopefully save the world is different than trying to nab ancient treasures for personal gain.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Potato, Potah-to.”

 

“Can we please get back to business,” Castiel asked, clearly annoyed at them for talking about something so inconsequential.

 

“Sure Cass,” Dean mocked, “as long as you tell us what we’re looking for, because right now we don’t have a clue.”

 

“It should be a sprig of herb, tied together with a red string, set on top of… something. We couldn’t really read that part.”

 

“What do you mean you couldn’t read that part?” he rounded on Cass.

 

“Dean-” Sam interjected, holding out an arm and trying to calm him.

 

Castiel shrugged. “Enochian wasn’t meant to be read by angels. We speak it and can understand it, but it is difficult to read.”

 

“You mean to say we flew all the way over here for some half-ass baked theory that you and Gadreel somehow cooked up?” he asked, temper rising.

 

“Dean, that’s enough!” Sam tried to interject, a flat palm now resting against his brother’s chest.

 

“It’s more than just a theory,” Castiel protested, for the first time aware of how the sigils outside of the pyramid had dampened his powers. “There was only one part that we couldn’t translate-”

 

“Yeah, and what if that part was the part they told you, ‘haha, it’s not here anymore’, huh?”

 

Castiel practically growled back. “That’s not how Enochian works, Dean!”

 

“Yeah? How would you,” he pushed a hand against the angel’s chest, “know how Enochian works? It wasn’t even meant for you, apparently.”

 

Castiel looked like he was about to launch himself at Dean. Sam rested his hand against his arm and physically set himself between the two arguing men. “Calm down, both of you. There’s nothing we can do about this situation now, we’re here, we might as well look.”

 

Dean wrenched himself away and started meandering down the various isles. Sam tried to shoot an apologetic look to the angel, but it didn’t look like Cass had received it, stalking away to the opposite side of the room. Sam just sighed. Both of them could be insufferable at times, but he also stepped forward and began to search the large room.

 

He didn’t know how long had passed since they has started, but none of them had turned up anything of value. Dean was getting increasingly irritable and Castiel’s mood was souring as well. Sam was just getting fed up with both of them and wanted the hunt to be over. It hadn’t been much of a hunt anyway, nothing supernatural happening. He thinks maybe he would have prefered a ghost over the tense silence that reverberated through the space.

 

“Is there another room? Or something?” Sam asked once he had checked a painted carving of a cat for the fifth time. “I mean, they have to keep the body somewhere, right? It’s not in here so… I don’t know, is there more to this pyramid?”

 

Castiel tilted his head. “Yes. I had not thought of that as a possibility. Usually everything of value is placed in this room, but I suppose this plant would not have the significance it has today and therefore…”

 

He trailed off and took strides twices as long as normal to cross the chamber. There was a thick crease in the wall and he pushed experimentally at it, the heavy stone giving way, just slightly.

 

“I could use some assistance,” he said, and luckily Dean bit down any retort he had been thinking to give, instead throwing his full weight against the door with Cass.

 

With the three of them combined, they managed to push it enough back to squeeze through. Luckily, this time, the entrance was tall enough that they didn’t need to crawl or duck, but it was so narrow that they had to suck their stomachs in painfully tight, ribs catching on the lip of the stone entrance.

 

This room was still filled with treasures, but was much smaller. At the center lay an ornate sarcophagus and as their flashlights ran over the scene tentatively, the beam of light landed on a bundle of dried out twigs, tied together with what looked like a burnt orange-y twine.

 

“Guys,” Sam all but whispered, but he didn’t need to. All of them held on with bated breath as the reality of the situation settled on them. Everything had gone right, without a hitch (if you excluded the demon on the plane).

 

Dean stepped forward and reached a hand out to lift the herb.

 

“Wait,” Castiel called out, trying to grab for the back of his jacket, but he was too slow, Dean’s momentum too quick, and before he could prevent the mans fingers from closing around the fragile leaves, the twigs were lifted from their place on top of the tomb.

 

No sooner had they broken contact with the stone decoration, than a rumble sounded out through the chamber, nearly shaking the three of them to the ground.

  
Dean turned back, eyes wild. “What the hell was that?”


	8. Escaping Scathed

 

Chapter Eight  
Escaping Scathed

 

The rumbling continued, increasing in its intensity. Dean half expected the place to crumble, crushing them beneath it, but so far they were all still alive. No one had answered his question though, and Castiel looked just as alarmed as him, which never boded well. His chest tightened, his first instinct was to-

 

“Run!” he shouted, barking out an order and taking the lead back, Sam and Cass on his heels.

 

There were particles of dust and small stone that were falling on them now, as if an earthquake was rolling through, but this wasn’t an earthquake. That would be too much of a coincidence. No, something in here was definitely pissed off.

 

Past the narrow doorway, through the main treasure room, crawling through the short chamber into the barren area that had the path to the death trap and then running out the long, long passageway to the top.

 

Sam crossed his fingers, praying for them still to have the blanket of night over them. The last thing they needed was to get apprehended by Egyptian authorities after sneaking into a pyramid. His internal clock was busted and he had no idea whether they would be in the clear.

 

But as they approached the doorway, and there was no bright light streaming through, he figured that they were safe and continued to exit after Castiel and Dean.

 

Well, he had been halfway correct. It was still night, but the path had not been empty. A pair of security guards had Dean and Cass nearly cornered, but Sam just echoed Dean’s earlier sentiment and yelled, “run,” loudly, taking off. At least it seemed as if the trembling has stopped. Maybe whatever was happening had ceased as they exited the pyramid.

 

There was no hesitation at Sam’s order. The three of them were off to their previously stolen car, trying to outrun the guards. “Sammy, you’re going to have to drive,” Dean yelled before they arrived.

 

It made sense, after all, he could start it faster, so when he approached the getaway vehicle he reached towards the driver’s side handle. Luckily the doors were still open and he got inside with ease, pulling at the already exposed wires. Dean barged into the back of the car with Cass just as the engine turned over. “Everyone in?” Sam asked, already beginning to peel away from the space.

 

“Yes Sammy, drive!”

 

After that they lost the guards fairly easily, returning to the City and returning the car to it’s original parking space. The owners would notice something wrong the next time they tried to drive it, but hopefully the three of them would be long gone by that point. As much as they wanted to collapse in their beds, the smart thing to do would be to board the next plane out of Egypt.

 

Sam took a steadying breath as he unlocked the motel room door. They stepped inside and he asked, “everyone okay?”

 

Castiel nodded, but Dean sighed, “no. I think I got cursed.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Urgency laced Sam’s question.

 

“I can’t move my hands.”

 

“What?”

 

Dean lifted his arms forward to reveal his right fingers grasped tightly around the herb and the other palm splayed open, unmoving. “I can’t move them at all,” he muttered angrily.

 

“Shit,” Sam mumbled and turned to Cass. “Is there anything- what,” he sighed, “do you know what this could be?”

 

“I’m assuming there was a curse on the herb to prevent anyone from stealing it. You’re hands, Dean’s hands, would be frozen in place so as to provide evidence of the theft. Dean can not let go of the evidence.”

 

“That’s great, how about we talk about getting me uncursed.”

 

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t know if that is an option. Oftentimes curses must be removed by the person who cast them, but this person is obviously dead.”

 

Sam buried his face in his hands and sat down on the bed before looking up. “We’ll we have to figure out something. We couldn’t even get him through airport security like that. I don’t- do you think there would be any helpful information in the bunker? Maybe you or Gadreel could sleuth it out while Dean and I search here.”

 

Dean huffed, “I don’t know what use I’m going to be. I can’t go out in public like this and there’s not much research to be done with no hands.”

 

“I can check with Gadreel. He knows much more about these types of curses than I.”

 

The angel disappeared leaving the two brothers in the room alone. Dean’s stomach growled loudly, reverberating through the silence.

 

“I should go out and get us some food,” Sam suggested. “We’re both exhausted from last night, maybe you should try to sleep?”

 

Dean wanted to protest, wanted to do something more useful than pass out in such a situation, but he was tired, the stress and ache of the night finally settling over him, and he couldn’t argue doing anything else with his… condition. So he just nodded and said, “that sounds fine, Sammy.” before falling sideways on the bed.

 

“Do you… uh, do you need help,” Sam flourished his hand awkwardly, “getting into something more comfortable?”

 

It would be nice to feel the soft cotton of sweats and a t-shirt that wasn’t dirty, but he couldn’t admit to Sam that he needed help undressing, so instead he shook his head, burying it further into the pillows as if to tell his brother to leave him be.

 

Sam nodded and left him, but not before shutting the curtains closed, blocking out the sun to the best of his ability. He was positive that they were going to be able to fix Dean’s hands. It would be such a dumb curse to succumb to after all they’ve been through -- and right before such a dire time in their lifespans, but a nagging voice in the back of his head kept repeating what if?

 

He stopped into the main office for the motel and asked if there were any dining establishments close by.

 

The desk attendant pulled out a flimsy paper map and x’d off a couple fast food restaurants, dive bars and nicer establishments (but not without leering at his dress which Sam found particularly unfair considering what they were wearing). He gave a quick thank you and walked out, the light sound of the bell jingle falling away as he walked north.

 

He didn’t know how much a variety he would get at a run-down bar near the outskirts of Cairo, but they were probably the best bet for a juicy burger and spiced fries, which hopefully Dean would appreciate.

 

The first thing he noticed when he entered was a large painting on the roof, vaguely reminiscent of a devil’s trap, but with different markings twisting in odd ways with foreign symbols surrounding it. The rest of the bar was dark, with ingrained wood panelling everywhere and various memorabilia on the walls. It looked like any other trashy joint that him and Dean had stopped at over the years.

 

He walked up to the bartender, a flirty twenty-something year old who smiled at him and said, “what’chya lookin’ to get?” words masked through a heavy accent.

 

Sam guessed that he looked out of place for the town and appreciated that she had picked up enough on it to speak in English. He was also grateful that she knew it in the first place. Language barriers weren’t the first thing on his mind when hunting within the United States.

 

“Uh, just a menu would be fine. My order is going to be to go.”

 

She nodded and reached below the register behind her, pulling out a thick, stained card-stock paper with various food items listed on it, some that he recognized and some that he didn’t.

 

The woman went to check in on the other patrons before returning to where Sam sat and asking him if he needed any help or if he had made a decision.

 

“Yeah,” he spoke, clearing his throat, “could I just get two house burgers to-go, and the largest order of fries that you can charge me for.”

 

She smiled and took the card that he was handing out to her. “Be careful what you order, I could come up with an awful lot of fries for that demand.”

 

He chuckled, “within reason, please.”

 

She winked and ran the card through the machine.

 

Authorising….

 

Authorising….

 

Authorising….

 

Denied.

 

Sam swallowed but plastered on a smile for show. The bartender turned back to him. “You’re cards not going through, do ya have cash on you by any chance?”

 

“No, it’s uh, probably my bank. They get very sensitive about the card’s change in location -- they probably think someone’s ran away to Egypt with it,” he politely took the card from her outstretched hand, “let me step outside and call them. I’ll sort everything out and come right back in.”

 

He had no intention of returning, but it was a plausible enough excuse to not draw suspicion as he left. Dean and him handn’t had a card canceled on them in… well, years, and he could feel his heart strumming in his chest, almost afraid that it would leap out.

 

“Awh, it’s no problem,” the woman smiled, “it happens to tourists all the time, but none as cute as you. It’s on the house for tonight if I can get your number.”

 

Sam chuckled. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

He scrawled Dean’s number down on a napkin instead, but the woman just pocketed it and left to run the order to the back and once more attend to the other patrons. When she returned for a second time, it was with his food, steaming hot and already boxed in away containers.

 

Sam couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Just wondering,” he started, leaning in towards her slightly, “what’s the meaning behind the painting on the ceiling?” he jabbed his head towards the mutated devil’s trap. “It seems kind of an odd place to put… whatever that is.”

 

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “You’d have to ask the owner, and he doesn’t speak English. He always just mutters that it’s for some type of protection, but that’s not uncommon. With all of the rumors of curses and riddles we have ‘round here, it’s not surprising that some people who live in the area are a bit more superstitious than normal.”

 

“So you don’t believe in anything.”

 

She gave him a perplexed glance, barely raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

 

Sam shrugged back, “I have an open mind.” There was a pause. “Is there any way I can talk to the owner? I’d really like to know more about that… whatever that is.”

 

The woman pulled out a clean bar-rag and began to wash down the countertops. “He’s in during the evenings, late, usually after nine, but like I said, he doesn’t speak a word of English.”

 

Sam smiled back. “I have a friend who speaks Egyptian, so I’ll be good.”

 

She raised her eyebrows at that, stopping her ministrations. “Is he from here originally?”

 

“Uh, not exactly,” he chuckled, glancing down, “he just has a knack for languages. Picks them up easily.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

Sam tilted his head. “You don’t believe me?”

 

“Egyptian just seems like an odd language for an American to just decide to learn, even if he has a ‘knack for languages’ as you say.”

 

“He’s visited here quite a bit.”

 

“Well, alright,” she raised her hands in mock defense, “I’m not criticizing the guy. He just seems odd.”

  
Sam gave a full, from the gut laugh. “Well, you wouldn’t be wrong.”


	9. Everyone Succumbs to Sleep

 

Chapter Nine  
Everyone Succumbs to Sleep 

 

When Sam got back to the hotel room, he found Dean passed completely out on the bed, sprawled on top of the blankets. He looked cute (not that he would actually tell his brother that) and thought about letting him rest more, but knew that Dean would bitch about missing the warm food if he woke up later to find the burger in the refrigerator, cold and no longer fresh.

 

Sam bit back his own yawn, refusing to acknowledge how tired he was at the moment, not when there was warm food waiting for him. As if to encourage him, his stomach gave a loud roar as he stepped towards Dean, bending down to his bed to lightly shake him.

 

“Hey,” there was a muffled groan in response, “I brought back food. Burgers, good ones judging by the smell on my walk back.”

 

There was no response. “Dean?” he asked hesitantly, his shake coming across a bit more violently.

 

Another groan. “Sammy, how the hell am I supposed to eat a burger, or anything really, without the use of my hands.”

 

Sam paused, briefly staring into space sheepishly. He hadn’t thought about that. Even with the fries Dean would have to bend forward, eating them using his mouth (not unsimilar to a dog and he was momentarily reminded of when Dean had been partially attuned to them). Sam had seen how tight his hand was wrapped around those herbs, there was no way they were getting a fork wedged into his palm either.

 

“I could cut it up,” Sam suggested, referring to his burger and pushing at Dean to get him to turn over, “and I’ll feed it to you.”

 

This prompted an eye roll from his brother. “You are not feeding me a frickin’ burger like a child.”

 

“I don’t know what else you want me to do, Dean. You have to eat sometime.”

 

He just glared and turned back over.

 

“Fine,” Sam said, walking towards the table and taking out some of the food for himself.

 

He sat down and ate his portion of the meal, trying to gauge whether Dean had fallen back asleep or not. He guessed not based on the increased breathing rate, but ignored his brother one way or another. If Dean wanted to be a brat about this, fine.

 

He wrapped up the leftovers and shoved them in the mini-fridge that the room (luckily) came equipped with. Maybe Dean’s hunger will be great enough by tonight that he’ll actually eat. For now, Sam couldn’t fight the definite allure that sleep was having on him.

 

He changed into pyjamas, crawling into his own bed and under the covers. He glanced over at Dean who was feigning sleep and released another half hearted sigh. He just wanted his big bro to be alright.

 

Before finally drifting into the calm of unconsciousness, he sent a quick prayer to Castiel.

 

“ _Found something, will need your help around nine, our time. Come when you can. Hope everything is going well on your end_.”

Castiel blinked when he received the prayer from Sam. It jolted him out of his thoughts revolving around the possible ways to break Dean’s curse. Nine. It was still several hours away and he turned back to the book that was splayed open beneath him, but quickly shoved it away a few moments later. It contained nothing that was of use.

 

“Is everything going well, brother?”

 

Castiel looked up to find Gadreel leading against the doorframe of the Men of Letters library entrance. It was supporting a significant portion of his weight and his hand was resting over the gauze beneath the long piece of medical tape that wound around his torso.

 

“Unfortunately, no,” he replied, eyesight flicking down for a half second before looking back up to meet Gadreel’s eyes. “What are you doing here? You do not look well enough to be out of bed.”

 

Gadreel’s smile in return was weak. “I am well enough to help you, even for a short time. I am the one who sent Dean to Egypt with incomplete information and this is partially my fault.”

 

Castiel shook his head, “it is no more your fault than any of ours. Please do not blame yourself over it.”

 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he pushed off of the frame and took small, shaky steps towards where Castiel was sitting, gripping the back of a seat tightly and lowering himself into the chair opposite his fellow angel. “Dean is cursed one way or another and I wish to provide my assistance. Is there any way in which I could help?”

 

Castiel looked at him, eyebrows creased with worry. Ever since Gareel had joined their side, he had been throwing himself wholeheartedly into every mission to help them best succeed, but also to prove to them that he had truly repent. He didn’t seem to have much self preservation when it came to these choices, however, and Castiel was worried that one of these days Gadreel was going to push himself too far.

 

But he couldn’t deny that they needed another pair of eyes, so he slid a large tome of a book towards the other injured angel and pointed to a passage. “This is merely talking about Ancient Egypt, but it is written in Enochian, so I was hoping…” he sighed. “I don’t know what we are looking for. Every book that I have checked about curses has said to get the witch who cast the spell to revoke it. If the curse didn’t break upon her death, I am not sure there is anything we can do about it.”

 

“I’m sure an angel could set his condition straight.”

 

“Yes, but we know no angel who has the ability and the reason to do so.”

 

Neither of them said anything after that, the rustle of paper as pages turned was the only sounds. It was a companionable silence though, a silence shared between brothers who had both been cast out of Heaven's light.

 

Occasionally one of them would start, as if they had found something, but then their face would fall and they would huff out a sigh, only to return to whatever text they had originally been reading. The fantastical supernatural world contained so many rules and loopholes, conflicting theories and religions that it seemed like they were constantly navigating a maze with many false leads towards the satisfying end, but never able to reach it.

 

It frustrated Cass to no end because if there were anyone in this world who deserved to have, if not an easy, a straightforward, life, it was the Winchesters, but no, they had to get cursed right before the closest chance they currently had to break into heaven.

 

He wiped a hand down his face as if trying to massage out the stress lines. Like Gadreel had said, what was done was done. Now they could only look and pray that a real solution was out there. He snorted at the thought of praying. There didn’t seem to be much good in talking with God, so he just hunched his shoulders a bit more, bending further down near the table and continuing to read.

 

The minutes and hours ticked on and eventually it turned time to return to Sam and Dean. Castiel looked up at Gadreel who was still reading intently. Neither had found anything of use.

 

“I must return to the Winchesters,” he said, voice cold and flat. Gadreel nodded. “You are welcome to come with me if you think yourself well enough….”

 

Castiel trailed off, but it was an empty offer. Gadreel was having trouble keeping himself upright on his own, there was no way that he would manage intercontinental flight. His lack of response was answer enough.

 

“Thank you for your help. It has truly been much appreciated.”  
  


Gadreel flashed him an empty smile. “Whatever I may do to help, I shall.”

 

“Let me carry you to your bed, brother. You are still ill and need the rest.”

 

Gadreel thought about refusing, but conceited that he felt fatigued and didn’t know whether he would be able to make it back alone. With as much grace as he could muster, he stood, reaching an arm out for the reassuring presence of Castiel’s shoulder to wrap around.

 

They limped like this back to his temporary bedroom (which seemed to be getting more and more permanent recently) and Castiel set him gently down on the bed.

 

“Do you require anything else?” he asked Gadreel.

 

He wanted to ask for more books or maybe a spare computer to continue helping the Winchesters, but he could already feel the temptation of sleep taking over, so foreign to an angel. When it came on, powerful like this, he could hardly resist, falling into slumber before Castiel had even left the room.

 

The angel padded into the kitchen and filled one of the small glasses they had bought for the bunker with cool water. He walked back to Gadreel and set it on the bedside table beside his sleeping form. Castiel didn’t know if the angel was drinking or not, but he hoped that he would be able to appreciate the sentiment that he was leaving with him.

  
And then Castiel took off towards the Winchesters, leaving everything about the bunker behind.


	10. Of Lamb and Men

 

Chapter Ten  
Of Lamb and Men

 

The brothers were once again sleeping and Castiel couldn’t help the annoyed look that marred his face. He cleared his throat loudly. “You told me to arrive at this time.”

 

Sam startled awake, running a stray hand though his mess of a head of hair. “Uh, yeah.” He glanced over to Dean who was still sleeping. “Uh, I don’t think… let’s just head out on our own.”

 

Castiel nodded and followed Sam out. They walked a block away before he even began speaking.

 

“There’s a bar near here,” he explained, “the owner has a devil’s trap… well, something like it anyway. I know it’s a stretch but I was thinking that maybe he would know something about these types of curses? I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him, see if it leads anywhere, but he only speaks Egyptian.”

 

Cass nodded. “I can translate.”

 

“Yeah,” came Sam’s enthusiastic reply. They walked for a couple moments still before he stuttered out, “and, uh, thanks. For… helping us? And just, being there and,” he shook his head, avoiding Castiel’s eyes, “yeah.”

 

Castiel looked at Sam from the side. The tall hunter’s head was bowed as if he were trying to make himself appear smaller than normal. It broke the angel’s heart to see the two bravest men on earth broken in such ways.

 

“It is of no concern. You and your brother have sacrificed so much for heaven and earth already. This is the least I could do. Now, where is this establishment.

 

“A left here, and one more block up.”

 

The bar was surprisingly lively when they entered, a quarter full with patrons for the night, a jukebox loudly thrumming a song that Sam had never heard before. He walked up to the bar, the same waitress as before was working.

 

“I didn’t realize I would be seeing you so soon again,” she smiled at Sam.

 

“Yeah,” he chuckled out. “This is my friend I was talking about, Castiel. Castiel this is…” he trailed off, realizing he had never actually gotten the woman’s name.”

 

“Kiri,” she said with an outstretched hand towards Cass. “Nice to meet you,” she added in what Sam assumed to be Egyptian.

 

“Likewise,” was Castiel’s response.

 

“The old man is down that way,” Kiri said, pointing to the end of the bar where a man in his early forties was chuckling with a couple other men who were sitting at the end.

 

He nodded his thanks at the bartender and began to meander his way down to the cramped corner, partially secluded by the dark.

 

The man looked up at them as they approached, and eyed Sam wearily. He said something that the hunter couldn’t understand, but Castiel responded in lieu and the man chuckled, waving them to a pair of seats near the men.

 

Castiel said something else, nodding towards Sam, and he assumed the angel was explaining that he couldn’t understand anything that was was going on. At least, that’s what he hoped. The two went on a while like this, Sam burning with curiosity, trying to pick up on something, anything that they were talking about, but it was fruitless. They occasionally nodded to some of the memorabilia tagged up on the wall and motioned towards the odd devil’s trap occasionally, but he just had to be patient and wait.

 

The bartender brought him a drink with a wink, apparently some local special that was supposed to burn like the desert outside. He spluttered at his first sip, much to the amusement of the owner, who had another brought over for Cass. The angel, of course, knocked it back as if it were water which made the men near them laugh, clapping him on his back.

 

After a couple more minutes they seemed to be wrapping the conversation up and Sam was eventually offered a hand to shake one final time. He stuttered out a shaky “thank you,” in English, but he’s pretty sure the man understood him, because he nodded and smiled before sending him on their way.

 

The air had chilled significantly as they walked outside of the bar, Kiri calling a goodbye to them as they left. Sam breathed in a stale breath and began walking back to the motel with Cass by his side.

 

“So, did you learn anything interesting?”

 

Castiel nodded. “You were lucky when you chose that bar to go to. Apparently it functions similarly to how the Roadhouse used to. It is a hub for hunters, the group of men were there picking up a potential case.”

 

“So on the ceiling, that was a devils trap?”

 

“Similar to one, anyway. We might want to look into using it, actually. It incorporates some ancient hieroglyphics from the area and works on more than just demons. Nothing that we’re likely to encounter on our side of the globe, but we could always use extra caution.”

 

Sam nodded. It would make sense, especially with a heavy prevalence of differing religions and beliefs, that there would be other ways of protecting oneself so far away from what he knew as home.

 

“Anyway. There seems to be a couple ways of breaking the curse. The traditional method would be cutting Dean’s hands off.”

 

Sam blanched. “How does that help?” he yelled. “Then he just wouldn’t have any hands!”

 

“I know, Sam. I did not say that was the only option.”

 

He paused as the hunter ran a hand through his hair again before continuing.

 

“The other option is washing his hands in lamb’s blood.”

 

“What?”

 

Castiel just shrugged. “He needs to wash his hands of the crime using the blood of the innocent -- in this case a lamb. I suppose we should be thankful that it isn’t human since it does require there to be a sacrifice by the innocent to absolve you brother of the guilt of his theft.”

 

Sam winced, looking at the angel. “We’re going to have to kill a live lamb and then have Dean wash his hands in it?”

 

Castiel nodded. Sam sighed.

 

“That’s gross.”

 

“I think it is supposed to make you question your morality. Would you rather an innocent soul pay to keep the secret of your sins? Of course,” he continued, “since it is most likely utilized by criminals, there is probably less of a dilemma than originally intended, but none the less, that is how we cure Dean.”

 

“There’s not a third possibility?” Sam asked, knowing he was grasping at straws.  
  


“Not that’s feasible for us.”

 

Sam growled. They approached their motel room and he discarded the keys on the empty table as they walked in. “Where are we even going to find a lamb?”

 

“What?”

 

Sam and Cass jumped, gun and angel blade drawn, respectively.

 

“Relax, it’s just me,” Dean commanded, voice rough with exhaustion and irritation. “I should be asking where the hell you two have been.”

 

“Uh, out,” Sam supplied, averting his eyes.

 

“Sam found a potential lead and we went to investigate.”

 

“Without me?”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted, holding an unmoveable hand up. He was tired of the fighting. “Did you find anything useful? I’m assuming so from what little of the conversation I overheard as you two entered.”

 

Sam and Castiel exchanged glances before turning back to Dean. “You’re not going to like it,” Sam warned and Dean shot him a glare.

 

“I don’t like half the things we have to do, now spit it out Samantha.”

 

“You have to wash your hands in fresh lamb’s blood. Like, from one that was just killed. Uh, by you, I think.”

 

Dean stared at him. “You’re joking.”

 

Sam shook his head and nodded at Castiel. “He was the one translating the conversation, he should know the specifics.”

 

“That was pretty much all of it,” the angel added unhelpfully.

 

Dean paused for a fraction of a second, glancing between Sam and Castiel to see if they were pulling one over him because he was so not in the mood. “What type of sick fuck wants me to wash my hands in fresh lamb’s blood?”

 

“I believe it is so you will question your view on morality-” Cass began, but Sam cut him off with a quick glance.

 

“I don’t think that’s really a necessary explanation. We just, that’s what we need to do, so let’s stop waiting around. It’s night, the perfect time to, uh, steal a sheep- lamb, whatever.”

 

“No, wait a minute,” Dean said standing, holding a hand out and then getting frustrated when he couldn’t manipulate the digits into anything useful. “How do we know that this is going to work. Is there an incantation that needs to be said or-?”

  
Sam just glanced at Castiel who shook his head.

 

“It is that straightforward, Dean. There is always a possibility that it will not work, there has apparently been no need for this ritual in years, but the man who was telling me about it was true in his belief of its workings.”

  
Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright,” he said after taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “How are we going to get a lamb?


	11. Silence of the Lamb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that happens in this chapter is that the brother’s kill the lamb and break the curse on Dean. If you are at all possibly squicked by this, you can completely skip it and not miss much of the story. It isn't a graphic description, just kinda gross.

 

Chapter Eleven  
Silence of the Lamb

 

Castiel had sought out a farmer’s land a way outside of the city limits of Cairo. He had apparently hidden monetary compensation for the animal they were about to take inside the man’s house, but it didn’t make Sam and Dean feel any less awful about what they were going to do.

 

They stood on the edge of the field where the flock was, observing the sheep and mentally preparing themselves for the task ahead of them.

 

“How am I even supposed to kill it?” Dean asked, “I can’t even move my hands.”

 

Sam shrugged looking at Castiel for any instructions, but the angel was just as stumped. “I don’t know if you actually need to kill the animal, just that it must be fresh. The barman only recommended the cursed be the one to do the deed.”

 

“Well, I guess if you help hold it down, you’ll at least be an active participant in the death.”

 

“Great,” Dean muttered turning back to the field of sleeping animals.

 

“I will put it to sleep so that it will not be struggling or even aware of what is coming for it,” Castiel reminded them for what must have been the millionth time, but Sam appreciated the effort none the less.

 

They watched the slow breathing of the sheep for a couple moments longer before Sam spoke up again.

 

“Well, do you want to just grab one, Cass?”

 

The angel nodded and stood up, walking into the field, feet padding on the ground beneath him almost silently, errily. Before any of the sheep were disturbed, he placed two fingers on a young lamb that resolutely stayed asleep even as the rest stirred, running from the threat and bleating softly into the night. He tried to ignore the irony at an angel distressing a flock, watching the sheep retreat into the distance.

 

The angel motioned them over.

 

They approached, kneeling over the lamb, Dean’s breathing speeding up, unsure of what to do.

 

Sam, luckily, caught on, offering some instruction “Just, place your hands here,” Sam pointed to the side of the lamp, lying on its side peacefully. Dean followed the instructions, awkward with his ministrations considering he couldn’t adjust his palms or fingers.

 

Sam took out a large knife, having researched the cleanest cut to cause the quickest death. He shifted down near the lamb’s head. “Ready?”

 

Cass nodded and Dean just stared ahead, skin pale and clammy. Sam bent down and with a single motion, blood was pouring from the wound on the neck. “That should do it,” he whispered, sending a quick prayer towards Heaven on behalf of the small animal.

 

Castiel looked at him for a moment, and Sam wondered if maybe he had caught onto that, but before he could process that thought, a broken off sound emitted from his brother, who had reached his hands forward into the cascading pool of red.

 

“It’s still warm,” he complained, rubbing the liquid between his hands as best he could. “Are you sure there’s nothing more to this ritual?” he demanded, but as soon as he had begun to panic, a tingling sensation shot up his hands, vaguely like pins and needles spreading through his fingers. He flexed, and was met with the tiniest motion in the tips of his fingers.

 

“It’s working,” he practically shouted, shoving his hands further forward as the bleeding started to wane.

 

A couple minutes later Dean had full mobility of his hands, finally releasing the herbs that they had been trying to obtain that had never left his desperate clutch since exiting the pyramid. The green of the leaves were now stained with red, but Sam was sure that they would still work for the spell to get into heaven. He took a glass vial out of his bag that he was glad he remembered to pack, and slid the twigs into it before corking the container and replacing into the knapsack and nodding at Dean.

 

Dean flexed his fingers for some moments longer, relishing the mobility, before looking back down to the carcass in front of him. “Should we bury it?” he asked out loud. It felt almost wrong to leave it lying in the middle of an empty field.

 

Sam shrugged. “We could just leave it for nature. I’m sure something would be along to eat it.”

 

Castiel tilted his head. “Would that pose a threat to the rest of the herd?”

 

The three tall men stood in a huddled circle around the animal, examining the pale white wool against the ground. Dean, finally, was the first to speak. “We’re burying it. It doesn’t feel right to just leave it out after we used it, I don’t care how stupid it is.”

 

Sam just nodded in agreement, not wanting to fight against something so inconsequential in the long run, and turned to to walk back to the car they had stolen again. “I’ll go grab the shovels. Be back.”

 

Dean and Castiel watched him leave, still standing over the dead lamb. “Uh, could you…” Dean held his hands up to the angel, still covered in blood that was beginning to dry into crumbled red flakes, the stench continuing to waft up to his nose.

 

“Of course,” the angel responded, but when he covered Dean’s hands in his own, nothing happened.

 

He squinted his face, contorting it into a sick grimace before letting out a large breath and releasing Dean’s hands. “I… I can’t.”

 

Dean looked away and scuffed at the dirt.

 

“So it’s getting worse then?” he asked, eyes still averted from that startling blue.

 

“With each day it deteriorates a little more.”  
  


“Can you still fly?”

 

“Yes. For some reason, solo flight doesn’t seem to be affected thus far. But…” he trailed off and the silence stretched on for a time, “I should probably stop. The last thing I need is to strand myself in the middle of nowhere just because I get tired or run out of grace,” he sighed, “or worse, if I were in the middle of an ocean.”

 

More silence.

 

“I’m sorry, man. Losing your grace must suck.”

 

Castiel wanted to tell him that was the understatement of the century, but he knew that was the closest to commiseration that Dean would ever offer, so he took it and nodded and waited for Sam to get back with the shovels, his dark silhouette visible on the horizon.

 

“Looks like Sammy’s back,” Dean said, echoing Cass’ thoughts.

 

The large hunter approached them, handing Dean the other shovel and Castiel a flashlight to guide them by. “Let’s dig in,” he said, wincing at his own pun.

 

The time passed quickly. Digging a grave for the lamb went much faster than making one the size of a person which they were both grateful for, and didn’t really want to think about. Not too soon after they started, a sufficient hole had been made, Castiel kneeling down to lift the animal in his arms and gently setting it down in its resting place.

 

They once more just stood there before Dean cleared his throat. “Is there, uh, is there something you could -- I don’t know,” he waved a hand over the grave, “say? A prayer or something.”

 

Castiel just knitted his brows together, looking at Dean questioningly. Humans were so odd with their extreme need for closure over what would so soon be insignificant. But instead of voicing his thoughts, he just closed his eyes, crossed his arms and bowed his head down to the ground, preserving the silence of the outdoors for a few moments before looking back up and meeting the brother’s eyes.

 

“It is done,” he said, which was a lie, but seemed to provide enough comfort to the Winchesters that they took their shovels to the dislodged soil, and returning it to the top of the lamb.

 

Castiel kind of wished there was a prayer for that type of moment, because even though the animal was clearly not human, not even awake or aware at it’s time of death, the two men before him had showed such compassion over something so intelligently inferior to them, and it was a great display of human nature. While tragic, Castiel thought it might be one more aspect the angels should celebrate over while talking about the “mud monkeys’” lives.

 

The hole was finished, the brothers patting the top of the dirt and sand flat, and slinging the shovels over their shoulders, body’s covered with a sheen of sweat.

 

“Shall we go?” the angel suggested.

 

“Yeah,” Sam replied, glancing over the horizon. “Sun’s coming up anyway. We definitely don’t want to be caught out here by a fresh grave of a farmer’s lamb.” He shook his head as the three of them headed towards the car that was parked on the far side of the field from the barn. “This is a situation that would be difficult to explain.”

 

“Less difficult if he believed in the supernatural curses of the ancient Egyptians and was sympathetic to our plight to break into Heaven using this herb that we stole.”

  
They all laughed at that, and in their laughter therein’ contained a spark of hope.


	12. The End

 

Chapter Twelve  
The End

 

The flight back was (thankfully) uneventful. Dean panicked as expected, but Sam thought that, considering what their last flights had turned out like, he had a valid point. They may not have gone careening into the sea yet, but it had to be something more that dumb luck that had them repeatedly running into demons on planes.

 

Maybe demonic creatures were just naturally attracted to flight? Simulating angels maybe? Sam shook his head. He was obviously tired if these were the thoughts that were rattling around in his mind.

 

Castiel had dozed off over the Atlantic as well, and Sam didn’t want to think of what that meant for them if the angel had begun to sleep. He couldn’t think of any outright negative repercussions of Cass becoming human other than losing a significant source of power they had, but he was worried about the mental tax it was taking out on their friend, who was increasingly worried about his helpfulness sans powers, even if he wouldn’t admit to worrying about it. He was kind of a Wincester in that way.

 

Sometimes Sam wanted to outright tell him that it would be okay even if he completely fell. Dean and him had lived their whole lives as humans and had survived a lot. Cass certainly could learn to hunt with them, or do whatever he might want to do.

 

But when he shook Castiel awake after landing, he just looked sheepishly embarrassed before standing up to follow Sam down the aisle and out of the plane.

 

It was good to be back on solid ground in their home country. As much as Sam loved the idea of traveling internationally, he didn’t want it to be something they did in conjunction with their work ever again, especially not if it meant having to deal with foreign curses that they might not be able to break.

 

He inhaled. They had definitely gotten lucky on that one. He didn’t know what they would have done if they hadn’t have been able to cure Dean’s hands, and from what Castiel had said, him and Gadreel hadn’t been making any progress back at the bunker.

 

Leaving the airport was easier than entering through security, and there was a certain humor about walking out past the TSA and unsuspecting civilians packing guns and knives that no one cared about them exiting with.

 

Dean was muttering something about getting food as the twisted airport path wound them out in an odd direction towards the stretch of sidewalk where rides were waiting to pick up family and friends. Now that he was mentioning it, they hadn't eaten since before boarding the international flight, and hadn't even been offered peanuts on the plane. All of the food offered they had to pay for and ever since the incident in the bar, Sam had been weary about using their credit cards until they were back in their home country and able to apply for new ones.

 

The trio rounded another corner and walked through the large, glass doors exiting the airport. Bobby was there waiting for them with the Impala, parked against the curb. Dean had never looked forward to seeing his baby more than in this moment and rushed towards the car with an almost worrying amount of child-like enthusiasm.

 

Bobby gave Cass a knowing look at his unspoken, “thanks for fixing the car and not telling Dean that I had significantly damaged it,” and clambered into the back seat beside the angel, Sam slipping into the front near Dean.

 

They all knew that Gadreel would be at the bunker waiting to greet them. Castiel had sent a message ahead via angel radio informing him that they had found a cure for Dean, and apparently the angel was dying of curiosity to hear about the incident. Gadreel had recently taken to completing what he could of the Bunker’s library of information and was probably eager to add this ritual to its archives, along with any other nuances they had discovered (like the altered devil’s trap).

  
Dean pulled out of the airport parking lot and took off towards Lebanon, miles and miles of open road stretching out overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! I so appreciate any comments you leave.
> 
> A reminder to check out [the art post for this fic](http://senegalus.livejournal.com/820.html) and leave a message there for them as well. :)


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